


Laid in a Field of Poppy Red

by MightyGlowCloud



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Drugs/Poppies, Ep159, Inspired by Hadestown, Jon as Orpheus, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Martin as Eurydice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightyGlowCloud/pseuds/MightyGlowCloud
Summary: Can John walk them out of the Lonely without losing sight of Martin or looking back?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Laid in a Field of Poppy Red

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Hadestown last night and then wrote this, so that's fun. I feel like this has been kinda done already, but?? Idk, enjoy my own take and prose on it I guess.
> 
> I also really like the mention of poppies in the song Flowers and, obviously, decided to run with that a little bit especially since poppies have an effect similar to morphine and can cause a dazed state, lethargy, and even lead to death (way to bring it home at the end with the fun fact there, Glow)

Following the pull of thread that bound him to Martin, faint like a melody blown away on a breeze, Jon walked through the fog that surrounded the Lonely. He found Martin sat under the shade of a large oak in a field of poppies, head resting on his knee with his arm outstretched to pass over petals that wilted in the cold. Looking at him felt like watching a reflection on water, the edges of the image rippling out and away. Wisps of Martin floated away like feathers on the breeze.

“Martin!” A laugh bubbled up in Jon’s throat at having finally found him, the long hours of walking melting away at the sight. Martin gave no indication that he’d heard. “Martin,” he tried again, coming to kneel beside him. Desperate, he saw more than felt his hands shake as the pull of hunger threatened to swallow him whole as he grabbed at Martin’s hand. “I- I’m here. Come home.  _ Come home with me." _

“Jon?” Martin asked, like he was waking from sleep.  _ "Oh, _ it’s you,” he blinked, more alert.

“It’s me.”

“Are you real?”

“Yes! Yes, I-I am. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” Jon stood, tugging on Martin’s hand.

“No. No, I don’t think so.” He let his hand fall from Jon’s grasp, pulling his arms tighter around himself as he looked out once more over the field. “This is where I should be. It feels right.”

“Martin, don’t say that.” The edges of Martin started fading out again.

“He was right. You can’t feel anything here. It’s just quiet…”

“This isn’t right. This isn’t  _ you_."  Martin may have been much larger in height and build but he put up no resistance as Jon hauled him up to standing, digging his fingers into the other mans’ arms as if he could hold him together by sheer force of will and keep him from slipping away.

“It is, though.” He gave a wry laugh, and smiled down at Jon wistfully, “I really loved you, you know?” The breath that fanned across his face was sickly sweet. Jon slowly started connecting the dots.  _ It was like he was coming out of a daze, like he’s not fully here. Surely it’s not just the Lonely…  _

“He’s done something,” he said, more sure of himself now as he looked out over the red of the poppy field before coming back to Martin. “Peter’s done something to mess with y-” In the brief moment he’d looked away, Martin was gone, leaving him clutching at the empty air. “Damn it! Martin!  _ Martin!_" 

“I tried to tell you,” echoed Peter’s voice across the empty expanse, “He’s gone.” 

_ Martin’s gone_.  There was nothing but silence in his heart as he tried to reach for the thread of knowledge again and again, uselessly tugging to find nothing tied to the other end.

“He made his choice. And it wasn’t you.” Peter’s voice seemed to come from the oak above him, rustling in the leaves before sighing away on the air, pitying.

“Whatever happened… I’m to blame. I did this to him as much as you.”

“Yes. I suppose you did.” The direction of his voice changed again, leaving Jon adrift and empty. “Where are your friends, Archivist?”

“Tim and Sasha are dead.”

“Yes?”

“Daisy and Basira are probably dead.”

“Because. Of. You.” If the dirt and stones could open up and take him, he’d honestly be grateful. 

Losing himself to the feeling of aching loss, he spoke softly, “Georgie and Melanie have left me.”

“And?”

“Martin’s gone.” It echoed across his soul, through the first silence that had fallen in his head in… years.  _ He’s gone. He’s gone and it’s my  _ **_fault._ **

“You’re alone, Archivist. The last one standing. I did warn you. I did want you to leave, but… perhaps it would be better if you stayed a while.”

“I-” His mind raced. Doubt and regret clashed against the gnawing, aching  **hunger** within him, made all the more bitter by this most recent loss; all of it creating a terrible symphony inside himself.

“I can promise that you won’t feel anything here. You can’t  _ hurt _ anyone in here, either. It’s your choice in the end.”

A tendril of knowledge came to him unbidden, tethering them like a thread. His mind cleared of everything but the red of the field surrounding him, and the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears that  _ beat-beat-beat _ like the reverberations of a spider’s web that lead to  **prey.**

“You like making bets, don’t you Peter?” He asked, flatly. “Shame when you get  _ hustled_,"  his eyes were cold and stony as he finally focused on Peter Lukas himself, digging himself into the other man’s head, allowing the static to rise up and force its cacophony to a thunderous roar.

“... What?” Jon could feel his struggle to leave, pinned by the fear of being known and seen and  _ watched_.  “What are you doing?”

“I wouldn’t try to leave if I were you. I can  _ see _ you now. I can find you wherever you go.”

“Fine! It was just a thought. So leave,” Peter spat, bristling.

“Not without Martin.”

“It’s like I told you,  _ he made his choice. _ He doesn’t want to go with you.”

“Want to bet?” Jon breathed heavily, his words flying out of him fervently, “I trust Martin.”

“Is that so?” Peter laughed. “Alright, let’s make a deal then, shall we? If you trust him so much, trust him to  _ follow you. _ You know the tale of Orpheus, I presume.”

“Just like that? How do I know it’s not a trick?!?”

“Consider it a trial. If you trust each other as you say, you can go.”

“And what do you get out of this? What’s your prize if we don’t?”

“I’ll keep him, that much you know already, but…” Peter crowded into Jon’s space and sent a shiver of ice down his spine as he smirked, “I’ll keep you too. See what Elias does without his golden canary to perform his little rituals, hm?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“And you won’t. Not from me.” 

“No,  _ tell me_."  Jon tried ripping him open to the best of his ability, to force an answer out of Lukas, who’s face contorted in pain in response.

“ _ I’m not… giving you… my  _ **_statement_ ** .“  Peter said through his teeth. “I don’t have to let Martin go. Last chance: take it or leave it.” 

_ Don’t listen to the- the static. Listen to the quiet. _

“Fine,” he snapped. “Fine! Let’s go over the rules, then.”

“Martin,  _ if _ he chooses to do so, will walk behind you. If you turn around to make sure he’s coming, you both stay. If you use your powers to try and find him or Know, you both stay.”

“And what about him? Whatever you’ve done to him, you’ll fix it - give him the chance to leave?”

“Perhaps,” he smirked, “if I’m feeling generous. Better get walking!” In his frustration, Peter slipped away. His laughter echoed, setting Jon’s teeth on edge.

There was nothing but silence around him. Silence and an empty field of flowers.

“Martin, listen. I know you  _ think _ you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer, and well – well, maybe it is. But we need you.” He took a deep breath in, desperate for the smallest sound and knowing that none would answer him. “I need you. I… I don’t know if that means anything; if I’m enough. I hope so, at least. If-if there’s someone else, anyone else, who-who  _ means _ something to you, then… Let me show you the way back. Please.”

Looking out over the red sea before him, he knew that he’d never be able to look at a poppy without feeling sick to his stomach.

“Let’s go home,” he said, hoping Martin would hear him.

* * *

Once he’d walked into the empty streets of London the temptation to look back, to Know, pulled at the edges of his mind.

**Why would he follow you? Why would he come back to the end of the world, for a monster?**

**Why would Peter let us go? Wouldn’t he be better off deceiving me, leaving me alone?** **  
** **Why, why, why why-**

_ No. I trust Martin. I choose to trust him.  _ He thought and shut his eyes tight, letting his memory do the work of leading them back to the Magnus Institute. He kept the thought at the front of his mind like a mantra, setting a drumbeat to walk to.

He finally reached his office, the door shutting behind him with a click of finality. All he could hear was the whirring of tape recorders. Jon braced his hands against the edge of the desk, shoulders shaking as his anxious mind refused to open his eyes to look.

“Martin? Martin, are you-? I  _ can’t- _ Please, if you’re here… I need you to be my eyes. Please. Look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.”

_ I see…  _ He couldn’t tell if he was imagining Martin’s voice, softly echoed like a whisper of a memory.

“I see you, Jon.” Martin’s voice quavered from behind him. Jon shook his head,  _ sure _ that this was a trick, that he’d imagined exactly what he wanted to hear. A cold hand pulled his chin to the side where warm breath met his. “I  _ see _ you. Open your eyes,” Martin chuckled incredulously.

“Martin,” he sighed, exhaling a sigh of relief as he held as tightly as he could to Martin who shook with sobs.

“I… I was on my own. I was all on my own. You couldn’t hear me-" Martin’s voice cut off, burying his head into Jon’s neck.

"I'm right here," he promised.


End file.
